Shifting Tensions
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: Metamorphosis ended with a bit of an anti-climax. These are the scenes that could have been aired, but weren't. Slight whump. Previously posted on SFnet


Will opened his eyes, his lids heavy and dry, as though he'd been sleeping for weeks. Hell, for all he knew he had been—the last rush of memories he could recall were blurry and indistinct. And judging from the concerned eyes of the woman watching over him, his condition had been serious.

Magnus. She was standing over him with apprehensive blue eyes, as though she wasn't quite ready to believe that he was out of the woods. It wasn't the most comforting of expressions, but the fact he knew it was her nature to worry for her patients, it did put him at some ease.

"Will… How do you feel?" her accented voice asked.

He looked down at his hands, and felt a rush of relief at seeing them flesh-toned and smooth. He should have known she'd be able to cure him. "My throat hurts," he responded honestly, his own voice hoarse.

"It's only been a couple of days," she told him softly. "It'll be a while more until your recovery is complete."

He could barely keep his eyes open, but somehow he found the strength to spout off what seemed to be a dozen jokes. They were far from his best, but it broke the tension, and Magnus grinned anyway.

They parted with smiles on their faces, and he was assured that _she_ is sure he will fully recover. And that small slice of normalcy did more for him than any of the medications running through his veins. It was only a matter of minutes before exhaustion hit him full force, and he slipped back into the realm of sleep.

Days later, he is back on his feet, and back at work. He doesn't mind that Magnus restricts him to filing duty though—he may be physically up to par, but he's still shaken, and he _does_ owe her about a dozen overdue reports.

The others seem just as shaky as he is, and they walk on eggshells around him, despite his requests for normalcy. Slowly, things return to the way they were, but the meantime preoccupies him just enough that he doesn't notice that Magnus begins to develop a little furrow in her brow, the one that says that she has a headache.

He's usually the one most attuned to the nuances of her behavior, despite the fact he hasn't known her as long as Henry or the Big Guy—he counted it a gift of his training. But he doesn't notice her discomfort for several days, until she begins to rub her temples with enough frequency to give him pause. But even then, she waves off his queries of concern.

"The last few days have been trying for everyone," she says, and promises to get some more sleep that night.

But the next day, at the staff meeting he is gleefully on time for, she is pale and drawn. He makes a mental note to sic the Big Guy on her after the meeting's done, but before they're even halfway through her fatigue begins to show. He sees her hand shake when she goes to jot down some note, but remains silent. Her eyes cloud every so often, as if she can't focus on the discussion.

Soon he's not the only one who sees that something's wrong. Kate shoots him a questioning look, silently asking if he'd noticed the same things she did. The Big Guy grunts subtly in concern, but Magnus doesn't notice. It's Henry that speaks up first.

"Everything okay, Doc?" he asks, when there's a momentary lull in the meeting.

Blue eyes lock on his, almost surprised at the query. "Yes, Henry, I'm fine. Just a headache." She stands, and they all know that the line of questioning is effectively closed—for now. They watch her cross to her desk, her focus sharp once more. "Now, Henry… I need you and Kate to—"

Whatever request she's about to make falls off abruptly, and the others all straighten in alarm, ready to pop up to the rescue. But they wait for her to continue, just in case she's had an epiphany of some kind—it happens often enough that it wouldn't exactly be out of place. But the silence does not resolve itself, and Will stands carefully.

"Magnus, why don't you sit down for a minute," he says cautiously, carefully treading the line that could potentially send her into stoic-doctor mode. He half-expects her to fire off some line about professionalism and a not-so-polite reminder to mind his own business—but she remains alarmingly silent.

But then, finally, her shoulders hitch, and it looks like she's taking a breath to speak. She turns, a question on her lips—only to drop mid-pivot, her legs giving out from under her as her eyes roll back in her head. Her clipboard drops from her fingers to clatter loudly against the hardwood, and she is inches away from joining it when Will manages to get his arms around her.

He instantly moves to cradle her head, lowering her gently until she is half in his lap. Around him, he hears the nervous, alarmed chatter of the others as they scramble to try and make the next move. Kate scampers off to the infirmary, but Henry stays close, waiting to see what the Big Guy decides.

"Magnus, can you hear me?" Will asks, his voice loud as his fingers lightly tap her cheek. His other hand searches for a pulse, and he finds one that's a little too rapid for his liking. He gets no response to his efforts to wake her. The Big Guy crouches on her far side, his cat-like eyes as expressive as any human's. He's worried, and that worries Will almost as much as the woman lying limp in his arms.

They share a look. "Infirmary," the Big Guy grunts. Will nods, and a moment later the Big Guy is lifting her effortlessly. Will hovers as they move from the room, and he is there when she begins to stir, moments after crossing the threshold.

She moans, and her brow furrows as she rises back into consciousness. When blue eyes flutter open, they are unfocused and clouded with pain.

"Magnus," Will addresses her smoothly, neither he nor the Big Guy miss a step as they continue to move towards the infirmary. "Magnus, can you tell me what's wrong?"

"Mmm…" She murmurs something indiscernible—it sets him on edge. It's not that she's incoherent, but rather like her lips won't make the right sounds. He's seen it in stroke victims before. Her eyes threaten to slip closed once more, but she powers through it. "Head," she finally chokes out. "CT…"

The rest falls away into the same garbled sounds as before, and the Big Guy quickens his pace until they are nearly sprinting to the infirmary. She's out again by the time they reach the medical ward, and they don't waste any time in loading her onto the scanner.

Minutes later, they are all staring at the scans on the computer monitor, their eyes fixed on the pale shadow that has them all scared speechless. A brain bleed, pressing up against her brain, causing swelling that is already threatening to kill her.

"We need to operate," the Big Guy grunts. He doesn't need to explain the _or_. It's obvious enough. If they don't find a way to drain the bleed, then she'll die. She's already at risk, because they figure it's been there for almost a week now—there's a very real risk that they may already be too late.

As if on cue, the monitors Henry's hooked her up to sound the alarm. Her blood pressure is bottoming out, and tachycardia grips her heart for several gut-wrenching moments, before Will manages to shock it back into a normal sinus rhythm.

They all share a look of almost-relief, and they nod their acceptance to the Big Guy.

He selects Will to help him in the surgery. Together, they sedate her, put her on a ventilator, and get her into the OR. Will does little more than hand over implements and monitor her sedation. It's the Big guy's gentle hands that drill the tiny hole in Magnus' skull, and inserts the even smaller tube that will draw the blood away from her brain.

Will tries not to look at her, laying there so still and so vulnerable. It's worse than when she'd had the beetle in her head, because at least then they'd been unable to do little more than watch. Somehow, it's worse now that her life is their hands.

What they do, or don't do, decides whether her unnatural, beautiful life continues, or slams to a vicious halt. The realization weighs on him, on both of them, and the sterile air feels so thick he can barely breathe.

The whole procedure takes little more than an hour, and it is so clean and concise that it all seems like a bad dream, once she is installed in a new bed, the ventilator is removed, and they are left to wait for the sedation to wear off. The Big Guy's skillful work was so precise that the little square of gauze needed to protect the drill site is covered by her hair, and she looks like she's only sleeping.

Henry is the first to voice the question that is on all their minds.

"How the hell did this happen?"

Kate looks at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Will knew she wasn't used to all this, to coming so close to losing people, let alone two so close together. First him, now Magnus—she cared for them, this crazy little dysfunctional family they've become.

Honestly, he wasn't used to it either, especially not where Magnus was concerned. Even now, she was still the woman who had saved him from the monster that had killed his mom.

Sure, now he had an appreciation for the fact she was full of feminine mystique and was smoking hot. But the spirit was still the same—she was the same nurturing soul she'd been three decades ago. A healer, a protector… a guardian angel trapped in a corporeal body for all eternity.

"Well, she hasn't done anything more strenuous than filing for the past week," Kate said, her voice forcibly bright. "Unless she tripped or something, bumped her head on a cupboard or something…"

"That sounds like Magnus," the Big Guy grunts gruffly.

Kate grimaced. "Yeah, you're right."

"She must've hit her head when—"

Henry's suggestion falls off abruptly, his eyes flicking nervously to Will before darting away again. But Will sees it, and looking at the others, discovers they are similarly unsettled.

"What?" he asks. "When what?" They all hesitate, reluctant to answer, and he knows he won't like the answer. But he pushes anyway, because not knowing isn't an option.

It's Henry that bites the bullet. "You got out," he says bluntly, his arms crossing over his chest uncomfortably. "When you were… different. Magnus found the cure, but you were gone, so we had to track you down."

"And," Kate chimes in, helping her friend out, "you didn't exactly want to come willingly."

Dread pools in the pit of his stomach. Will looks to Magnus' too-still form. "Are you telling me—I attacked her?"

"Hey, man, it wasn't your fault," Henry tells him. "That wasn't even you."

"She knew what she was getting into," the Big Guy chimes in from his post at Magnus' bedside.

Kate nods her agreement. "Yeah, I mean, she was the one who authorized lethal force against you, if necessary."

"But she didn't," he counters. "If I attacked her, and I'm still alive, then she _didn't_ use lethal force—" Reality hits him hard, and the rock of guilt settles over him. He did this. He did this to her. She saved him, and he nearly kills her in return.

"Will, you're not to blame for this," Kate says, moving towards him with sympathy in her eyes. "It could have happened on any mission, any time she leaves the Sanctuary…"

"Well, it didn't," he counters, his voice stiff and sharp. It shocks the others, and Kate takes a wary step back. Remorse fills him at the hurt in their faces, and when he speaks, his tone is softer. "Look, can you guys just give me some time alone?" he asks. He turns to Magnus. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me be here when she wakes up."

He needs this. To be the one she sees when she opens her eyes, just like she was for him. It has to be him, and he wants to do it alone. Luckily, the others understand, and they mumble their acquiescence with nervous reluctance. Once they're gone, he pulls up a nearby stool, and settles in to wait, alone with his thoughts and his guilt.

It takes hours, but he is patient. He waits until she stirs, and gently speaks to her as she works her way back into consciousness. It's gradual, and she slips back under several times before she fully awakens.

He's never been so glad to see those clear blue eyes before.

"Hey," he says gently, as her eyes focus on him. He reaches forward, and takes her hand, choosing to ignore the chill of her skin. "Everything's okay," he reassures her, dispelling the cloud of confusion and alarm that he knows won't be long in coming.

Her brow furrows anyway. "What happened?" Her voice is hoarse, no doubt from the tube they'd put down her throat.

"You collapsed, in the middle of a staff meeting yesterday." He sees her lips part, either in protest or question, but he continues before she can speak. "We did some scans," he explains, "and we found a subdermal hematoma. We operated, and drained the bleed… you're on the way to a full recovery."

Her eyes close briefly, perhaps in relief but he acknowledges that she may simply be exhausted. "Good," she breathes heavily, her eyes blearily open once more. "That's good."

A beat passes, and she's almost asleep again by the time he gathers the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry."

The soft utterance forces her eyes open, and she swallows thickly. "Whatever for?"

He averts his gaze, shame heating his cheeks. "I did this, Magnus," he delivers softly. "I attacked you. I almost killed you."

"You were hardly in control of your actions, Will," she counters, gaining some clarity. "I've done the same to you... more than once..."

Her fingers tighten on his, urging him to lift his head and meet her eyes. He saw a tired smile on her lips, reassuring him that whatever he felt was entirely misplaced. He couldn't say he agreed with her, or believed her.

"Magnus, I—"

"_Will_." It's almost a scold, and is reinforced with another squeeze of her fingers. "Enough, please."

Her fatigue is clearly writ across her features, and even now her lids are starting to droop. He sighs, knowing that the conversation is not over—merely postponed. He nods, offering a gentle smile as he enveloped her slender hand in his.

"Okay," he tells her softly. "Go ahead and rest now." Everything else can wait.

And it does. She sleeps, and when Henry comes in to take up the vigil, he feels comfortable enough to let Henry have his time with her. Days later she's back on her feet, but she humors them all by taking it easy, curling up in the library with the rare leisurely read.

That's where Will finds her during his lunch hour two days after her release from the infirmary. She's more relaxed than he's ever seen her, and when she looks up at his entrance she closes her book expectantly. She knows why he's sought her out.

"How're you feeling?" he asks by way of an opening overture.

She rolls her eyes at the rote query, clearly growing tired of the scripted question. But she remains good-natured, he's glad to see. "Well."

Her delivery is blunt, and he waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn't.

He settles into the chair nearest her, feigning a comfort he didn't feel. He looks at her, and he knows she notices. He shrugs helplessly. "We need to talk."

She sighs. "I'd hoped we were past this."

"Well, we're not," he counters. "Because I'm not comfortable with being a danger to you."

A dark brow arches. "Have you had this discussion with Kate?"

The turnaround catches Will by surprise. "What?" She waits for his answer. "No, I haven't—why?"

"Because if I recall correctly, you are also responsible for the bandage on her right forearm." She eyes him carefully. "Do you remember that?"

He looks away, not liking the reminder that he'd been such a threat. But the truth was—he did.

"Yes."

"And yet you don't feel compelled to seek her forgiveness," Magnus observes smoothly. "Why the difference?" He doesn't have an answer for her, so she hypothesizes her own. "Is it because I'm your employer? Or is it that Kate has knowingly signed up for such risks, just as you did?"

A knot twisted in his chest, sharp and swift as a kick to the gut.

"Ah."

And there it is. He wants to contradict her, but he can't.

"William, I have been doing this for many, _many_ years." Her eyes grip his, and refuse to let him look away. "I may not have signed a contract, but I am more invested in what we do than any of you could possibly fathom. I accepted the risks, and the consequences of this job over a century ago."

"That doesn't make it okay—"

"Of course not," she cuts in. "But it's a matter of fact— reality. The reality we have all chosen for ourselves. It's a risk we constantly face, every time we step out the front door. You, of all people, should know that by now. No one is safe, no matter how—" Her voice catches painfully, and her eyes close. She looks away, though she does finish her thought. "No matter how special they are."

Tears sparkle in her eyes, and he knows she's thinking of Ashley. He is too, and it hurts, even more so than usual because this scare still has him so raw. Both of them so very, very raw.

"Magnus…" his voice is soft, respectful. "When we were on that sub two years ago, you told me that you trusted me to do what was necessary to protect myself. Even if it meant killing you."

She nods. "I meant it. I still do."

"And I figured it was pretty clear that the same trust was returned." She nods, as though it were obvious. "Then why did you work so hard to save me when Hollow Earth told you that I was a threat? I could have infected god knows how many more people, and I became more and more violent as time passed. So why didn't you end it?"

A shadow crosses her features, and she stubbornly looks away, angry at him for pointing out her hypocrisy. For a moment he believes she's decided to ignore him, but then her lips part, and she speaks.

"Because I wasn't ready to lose another just yet," she delivers firmly. "It was a risk, yes, but one I was willing to take. I knew there was a way to help you… I simply needed to find it." Her eyes return to his, resolute. "And I did."

Will can't help but offer a deprecating huff of a sigh. "Yeah. You did."

Silence falls over them, and they sit solemnly for a long moment. The knot slowly eases, and Will can breathe deeply for the first time in almost a week. He settles back in his chair, unsure as to why the tension has passed, but content nonetheless.

"I will never stop fighting to save you, Will," she says quietly. He looks at her, to find her already fixing him with a steady gaze. "Or any of the others. Just as I know you will never stop fighting for me." She smiles softly. "I suppose it's the silent contract we all adhere to… In this line of work, you grow more attached to your colleagues than you'd like to admit. No matter how much you know it will hurt in the long run, the bonds of trust extend far beyond the scope of a normal friendship."

And in those simple words he can hear the decades of loss, the dozens of loved ones she's buried. And he knows from the way she refused to give up on him that she's lost a small part of herself with each death, and he wonders how much she has left to give before she ceases to feel anything at all.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." His voice is warm, and dispels some of the pain lingering in her gaze.

She smiles thinly, and while it does little to banish the ghosts of the past, it reassures them both. "Nor would I."

Because the alternative is just too bleak to consider.


End file.
